


Traitor of Kind

by Talullah



Category: A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-21
Updated: 2005-10-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the night Finny returns to Devon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traitor of Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for pyro
> 
> Feedback: Constructive criticism is very much appreciated.
> 
> Quoted passages are presented in italics.
> 
> This book moved me deeply. I felt more than awkward writing fanfic about it - it is absolutely perfect as it is. Why, then? I cannot say. But I hope that my clumsy fumbling is not cause for offence to those who loved it as much as I did.
> 
> Written as a New Year's Resolution for the Yuletide Treasure Exchange as requested by Pyro.
> 
> Warning: Underage sex - two consenting seventeen year olds here.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

I pulled off the sweater, under which I was wearing a rain slicker I used to go sailing in, a kind of canvas sack. Phineas just studied it in wordless absorption. "I like the cut of it," he finally murmured. I pulled that off revealing an Army fatigue shirt my brother had given me. "Very topical," said Phineas through his teeth. After that came off there was just my undershirt, stained with sweat. He smiled at it for a while and then said as he heaved himself out of the chair, "There. You should have worn that all day, just that. That has real taste. The rest of your outfit was just gilding that lily of a sweat shirt."

"Glad to hear you like it."

"Not at all," he replied ambiguously, reaching for a pair of crutches which leaned against the desk.

His scent of cold and railway stations hit me and I stuffed my hand in my pockets to stop reaching for him as he moved closer. On another occasion he would have come just close enough to make me unsure of his intentions, then pull away with his wicked 'later' grin, but now everything was different.

He protested about the unmade bed and gladly I made it, taking my time to let his presence sink in. It was not a work of perfection but I endeavored to stretch the sheets correctly and tuck their corners tightly as I tried to determine if he had truly thought I was crazy in Boston and now all was forgotten, dismissed as journey fatigue, misplaced guilt or whatever.

I could feel his stare on my back as I moved to pick up the blankets. I continued making the bed, wondering about his ambiguous words. He had dubbed me the worst dressed man in Devon, as if it were a title of royalty to be conferred on those deserving, but I had felt true appreciation in his contemplation.

And with it I had felt a flicker of hope. I finished his bed, changed into my pajamas without showering, since nothing would have dragged me away from that room. I helped him to bed, turned out the lights and lay in silence, praying to the gods of the godless for some measure of peace and certainty, even if only for a minute.

Phineas started talking in the dark as he always did, about his trip back to Devon, Brinker's new position, a strange man he had met on the train. I listened, waiting for a cue that I prayed would come as fervently as I prayed that it wouldn't.

I had felt like a traitor when I had loved him in hate, a traitor to myself, for not being able to pull away from the hold he had on me. I had believed we were enemies, and yet I had yearned for him even more than before, when we were only best pals doing things in the dark. I had hated myself because I knew I went to him night after night not because I understood him better and wanted to keep him believing I ignored his intentions, but because I needed him. I needed his skin and his extra ten pounds on me. I needed his hands, strong and tender, and I needed his silly, wild ideas murmured in the dark before we fell asleep. And it might have been that need as much as the realization of his loyalty shining against my weakness that made me bounce on that limb.

Lost in my thoughts I almost missed the note in his continuous murmur, "This bed is cold." Just like that, I was there, now as a traitor to him, again, still, for I knew what he did not, what he refused to acknowledge. But if he wanted to ignore it, I would do my part, and I was there by his side, us and the big ugly cast cramped in the narrow school bed.

I kissed his cold chapped lips, wetted them thoroughly, nibbled on the loose skin. He just held me close, tight, responding almost timidly to my tongue's unusual boldness. I reached my hand below to his pants, feeling his cock heavy in my hand, just like before, just like always. I could feel the huge, cumbersome cast on his leg against mine and for a minute I feared this would cause him more pain than pleasure, but I could not be stopped in my inebriety for him. I felt his hands traveling down me, a soft moan, almost a whisper against my lips, and his voice again in the dark, barely a breath on my face, "Love that working class scent."

I gripped him tighter just to hear him gasp, and then pulled his pants down furiously, searching blindly for warm silky skin, wiry soft hair, the dampness of excitement that I had already felt through the fabric. "Finny," I whispered to his lips before I kissed him again, lying practically on top of him, my hand clenching hard on him, moving in slow, yet abrupt movements.

His nails dug in my back through my pajamas. "Take if off," he said, and I obeyed, lightning speed, while he opened his top. Before I could settle in my awkward position, he reached for my groin, flew past the buttons and held me in his hand. I buried my face in his hair, feeling his bare skin beneath mine, his hand and mine busy in details. The slivers of light that came from the window had been enough to show me the expression of pure hunger in his handsome face, and it burned through my closed lids. Phineas needed me.

And Phineas wanted more, like that night in the beach, he wanted what we could do so rarely, with no privacy in a boy's school to shelter us. I felt his hand leaving my groin, grasping my buttocks, pulling me closer, even. I could hear Brinker turning in his bed in the next room and I knew he was still awake. The bed would creak revealingly under us. Mine would have been safer but moving Phineas would make even more noise. I lowered my pajama pants to my knees and wriggled them to my ankles, then turned in silent offering, my back to him, resignation damped by the drumming of my blood in my ears.

I felt him adjusting behind me, his body still hard despite the prolonged inactivity. His arm came around me, his lips moved on the back of my neck and then his voice, murmured, almost traveling directly to my mind, "No... you... me."

Phineas had always lead in everything, this included. My heart skipped a beat but then I clutched his hand tighter. "Are you sure?" I asked pointlessly. He was always sure.

He turned to lie on his back, sprawling his legs as he could, and I accepted his gift with the eagerness of the humble. The cast rubbed harshly against my skin, even through the pajamas, and it made every movement heavy and awkward. Suddenly I felt unsure of myself, lying there on top of him, our erections pressed so close. This time there was no water or a convenient ointment to ease the way. I didn't want to hurt him ever again.

He lifted his head to kiss me, drew the hair from my forehead, tenderly, and said in his pragmatic, shameless way, "Use spit."

I did. Then I was inside him and I could feel him more as a part of myself than as a separate entity. I could not tear my lips from his as I moved in his body. If the bed squeaked, if Brinker heard, if the world stopped I didn't know. All my senses were able to capture was him taut underneath me, his hitched breath, the sparkle of green light that left his eyes. I felt that we could move this way forever. The weariness of the day had vanished, the fatality of my actions erased, but I heard him whimper and he placed a hand on my chest. I had hurt him again. I tried to pull away, but he stopped me, readjusted his leg to a more comfortable position and pulled me to him again. I was gentler than I thought I could be, but we were seventeen, hungry, and it ended soon, me spilling inside him, catching my breath, remembering he wasn't quite done yet.

I took my weight from him, wrapped my shovel-roughened hand over his and worked for his end. Long after it came, but before I returned to my bed, I could not resist asking, "Is that what you like best?" echoing my question from what seemed such a distant past, now all sarcasm gone.

He nuzzled my neck, inhaling the scents of the day's labor and the night's folly. "Yes."

For a minute, I was not the kind traitor of kind, letting him live an illusion. For a minute all was well.

_Finis  
October 2005_


End file.
